


Skipping Christmas

by Magicofisis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-15
Updated: 2006-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-27 18:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicofisis/pseuds/Magicofisis
Summary: Voldemort is dead, but so is Hermione. Harry decides that celebrating Christmas is hypocritical. Fortunately, Ron does what Ron does best.





	Skipping Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the [Christmas Challenge](http://www.livejournal.com/community/harry_and_ron/326465.html) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/harry_and_ron/profile)[**harry_and_ron**](http://community.livejournal.com/harry_and_ron/). Although the title was shamelessly ripped off from John Grisham (an excellent read, by the way), this story has very little in common with that one. Angst and alcohol galore with a touch of smut at the end to top it off. Many grateful thanks to my beloved pinch-hitting beta, [](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/profile)[**shocolate**](http://shocolate.livejournal.com/) for her helpful and encouraging (and amusing) comments  


* * *

Harry realized it was going to be a problem the first time he walked down Diagon Alley and saw the merchants putting up garland and lights. He looked around; all these people were expecting their brightest holiday ever, now that Voldemort was gone for good and so many Death Eaters were in Auror custody. There had been three bad Christmases in a row where no one wanted to venture out and spend their gold. This year the merchants were hoping to recoup their prior years' losses. It made Harry's stomach turn.  
  
Rather than becoming the wizarding world's Golden Boy, as all had expected he would, Harry closed himself off from everyone and everything, too overwhelmed by grief and guilt to do anything productive. He drank too much, and when the barkeeps stopped serving him, he became annoyed and purchased liquor from the off-license, which he brought home to Grimmauld Place. The convenience of being able to pass out in the privacy of his own home nearly made up for the boredom. And he didn't have to put up with the Lectures and Concern that his so-called friends always wanted to give him when they ran into him at the pub.  
  
In fact, Harry wouldn't have ventured out at all had he not run out of the substantial cache of gold he kept at home which he used to purchase liquor. Like an old friend, his Gringotts vault was always there for him, and when that was empty, he could go through Sirius' as well.  
  
He was so appalled over the abomination of Christmas decorations, that he didn't see Neville heading for him until it was too late to hide. It was probably just as well to talk to Neville today; the last two times they'd talked, Harry had been soused out of his mind, which had earned him far too many Looks of Concern. Having run out of booze, his mind was clear today, so if he tried very hard to be friendly, perhaps he'd be spared the Concern.  
  
"Harry!" called Neville as he approached. "Surprised to see you out and about. How've you been?"  
  
"Great, Neville. Never better. And you?" Trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice was taxing, but he mustered as cheerful a look as he possibly could in order to make up for it.  
  
"I've been busy. I'm on my way to Gringotts to take out a loan. I'm having papers drawn up today so that I can start my own business." Neville looked excited as he said this, yet anxious for Harry's approval as well.  
  
Harry was somewhat taken aback. He'd have thought that Neville, of all people, would be having a difficult time adjusting after the war, given that he'd only narrowly escaped the same fate as his parents because Seamus Finnigan had witnessed his kidnapping and alerted the Aurors. "That's fantastic, Nev. I'm sure you'll be a great success. I'm heading to Gringotts myself."  
  
The two young men headed towards the bank, with Neville talking so animatedly that he didn't seem to notice that Harry wasn't holding up his end of the conversation. As they stood in the queue, Harry idly asked Neville how large a loan he was planning on.  
  
"I think I can make it on 1,500 galleons, but I'm going to get 1,800 just in case." He lowered his voice to whisper into Harry's ear. "I hope I don't get ripped off too much by these Goblins; I've heard they can be fierce negotiators." Harry nodded sympathetically.  
  
When it was their turn, Harry pulled Neville by the sleeve up to the counter. He handed his key to the Goblin, saying, "I'd like to make a large withdrawal from my vault today. I'll need four bags." He turned around to Neville. "Give me your vault key."  
  
Reluctantly, Neville did so, and Harry handed it to the Goblin. "We'll need to go to his vault as well."  
  
The Goblin bowed, and in a moment, another one appeared to escort them to the vaults. Harry took Neville's arm again and led him away.  
  
"Harry, I don't really need money from my vault, and I'm not sure that I have time to accompany you today. I have to meet my solicitor in a few hours, and it may take a while to get my loan."  
  
"This shouldn't take long," Harry replied. They got into the Gringotts carriage and made the wild ride to Harry's vault. Harry looked over at Neville, who looked as if he was about to vomit. When they came to a stop, Harry helped a woozy Neville out of the carriage.  
  
"I need you to help me count," said Harry as they stepped into the vault. There were piles of Galleons stacked haphazardly along one wall, Sickles in a large box in the corner, and an old cauldron filled to the brim with Knuts.  
  
Neville took the money bags that Harry held out. "All right. How much are you getting?"  
  
"Eighteen hundred for you and about a hundred fifty for me." Harry didn't have to look at Neville to know that his jaw had just about hit the floor.  
  
"For me? No, Harry, that's not what I—"  
  
"It's not a gift, Neville. It's an investment. You can either pay me back or give me a part interest – either one is fine with me." Harry was not one for random acts of kindness, but he was highly motivated by guilt, and he figured that had it not been for him, Neville would never have had to endure two hours of torture before the Aurors found him.  
  
Neville swallowed hard. "Harry, I don't know what to say."  
  
Harry shrugged, saying, "I helped out Fred and George when they started Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It's worked out well for them, and I get loads of free stuff. Maybe you could send me a plant or something once you get started."  
  
"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Harry."  
  
They quickly moved the gold from Harry's vault to Neville's, and emerged from Gringotts a half hour later. From the top of the stairs, Harry could see that there was hardly a merchant who hadn't decked his storefront with Christmas garb. Neville saw him looking at it with distain.  
  
"It just keeps getting earlier every year, doesn't it?" said Neville.  
  
Harry looked at him wistfully. "I'm skipping Christmas this year. I can't bear to pretend to be happy, when I'm not. Too hypocritical." He started down the stairs. "I need a drink. Want to join me?"  
  
Neville hurried to keep up. "Sorry, Harry, I need to meet with my solicitor, as I said. Look, er, Hermione would have—"  
  
"Would have what?" snapped Harry. "Chastised me for drinking so much? Yeah, I reckon she would have. But she's not here, is she? So you can spare me the lecture."  
  
"I was going to say," said Neville firmly, "that Hermione would have been very impressed that you helped out a friend in need of a loan. It's the sort of thing she would have done, Harry. I won't forget this. Thank you."  
  
Harry felt even worse after having been shirty with Neville. It was just as well that he hardly spoke to anyone anymore. "Yeah, sure. Good luck with everything." He clapped Neville on the shoulder and took off in the direction of the apothecary. He needed to replenish the ingredients for his hangover remedy before he could get drunk again.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Harry was lounging on the sofa with a cup of mead in his left hand, madly waving his wand in the direction of the playing cards in the middle of the floor. He'd just won his third game of solitaire in a row. It was easy enough to flip the cards over with his wand, but shuffling the deck was trickier. If he didn't flick at exactly the right time, he'd lose the arch in the cards and they'd go flying all over the room. He shuffled twice perfectly, but he lost it the third time when he heard a voice in the doorway.  
  
"Nice parlour trick, Harry. Good thing you went to Hogwarts to learn that useful bit of magic."  
  
"Damn it, Ron. Look what you made me do?" Cards had been flung all over so that Harry actually had to sit up to find them.  
  
"Sorry. I didn't know I'd be interrupting something so important," Ron said as he walked into the room and sat down on the other end of Harry's sofa.  
  
Harry lowered his feet to the floor. "Help yourself to mead. It's Rosmerta's." He set his wand on the coffee table. "And quit making fun until you've tried to do it. It's harder than it looks, you know."  
  
"Especially when you're drunk."  
  
"Well, yeah. So, is that why you came over here?" asked Harry, shooting an accusing look in Ron's direction.  
  
"What – to wind you up over playing solitaire with your wand?" he said with a grin.  
  
Harry grinned. "No. To lecture me about my drinking."  
  
Ron shrugged. "If you want to be shitfaced in the privacy of your home, that's your business. I actually stopped by to invite you to the Burrow for Christmas dinner. Mum's cooking the usual, and you can even stay overnight if you're worried about Apparating home. Charlie's coming from Romania and, of course, Ginny will be there."  
  
Harry glared at Ron. "I'm not interested in Ginny anymore. I told you that."  
  
"I never said you were. God, Harry, what's your problem? I just said she'd be at dinner." Ron didn't usually get annoyed with Harry so quickly, but Harry was being particularly argumentative this evening.  
  
"Actually, I'm skipping Christmas this year. No presents or huge meals or hanging out in your lounge listening to Celestina Warbeck. It's going to be a normal day for me. Maybe I'll do my wash."  
  
"Right, just another day." Ron paused. "Neville stopped over to see me yesterday. Says you've invested in his new business."  
  
Harry took a long swallow of mead. "He was going to try to negotiate a loan with the Gringotts' goblins. You know Neville – he'd have signed away his firstborn child within five minutes."  
  
"That was right decent of you, Harry. See, you do this shit and it reminds me why I still bother with you. Beneath your blatant hostility, you're still a nice person."  
  
"Don't let that word get out," snorted Harry. "I've been working very hard at being an arse."  
  
Ron laughed. "And doing a damn fine job of it, too. You're funny, Harry. I've never seen anyone wallow in self-pity the way you can. I think you've got it down to a fine art now. I bet if you listen real hard, you can hear Hermione tutting at you from…from wherever she is."  
  
Harry bristled at Hermione's name, but considering the comment was coming from Ron, he didn't feel as if he had the right to fly off the handle in bitter anger. He wondered, not for the first time, how Ron was able to deal with his grief. Hermione had been his girlfriend, after all. "I hated it when she tutted at me," Harry confessed quietly.  
  
Ron's tone softened. "You can't hold on to her forever, Harry. Dwelling on her memory is killing you, mate. I'm not sure how much more your liver can take."  
  
"My liver is fine," Harry said curtly. "Would you thank your parents for their invitation and tell them I won't be able to attend because I'll be bonding with a superb bottle of hundred year-old firewhisky that day. And doing my washing."  
  
"Yeah, okay. But if you change your mind, you're always welcome."  
  
Harry smiled. Ron was a good friend. "Thanks, Ron. I'll remember that."  
  
~*~*~  
  
On Christmas Eve day, Harry returned from getting Chinese take-away to find an enormous red poinsettia sitting on his front porch. Anger began to well up inside of him; he'd told everyone that he wasn't celebrating Christmas this year, yet someone had the audacity to send him…this. Harry pulled the plant inside and searched for a card.  
  
 _"Harry, please accept this poinsettia as a small gesture of thanks for your investment. I've already begun to plant, but it will be several more weeks before I'll have anything saleable. Stop by any time and I'll show you around. Happy Christmas, Neville"_  
  
Harry huffed. He couldn't very well chuck it in the trash bin since it was a Gesture. He shoved it into a corner of the drawing room where he never bothered to go anyway.  
  
He was halfway through his dinner when Hedwig arrived with a letter. Mrs. Weasley was begging him to reconsider Christmas dinner. He tried to think about it rationally. What was wrong with having dinner at the Burrow? Fred and George would be amusing, as usual, Ron would tell jokes and Ginny would make snide comments about her sister-in-law, Mr. Weasley would be wonderful, in his odd way, and Charlie would be friendly. It wasn't that they'd say anything to hurt him; on the contrary, they'd all be trying so hard not to talk about Hermione, just the way they'd done with Sirius, that first Christmas after he died. Harry didn't think he could handle the kindness. No, he was far better off not subjecting himself to them. They could talk about whomever they liked without worrying about setting Harry off into an uncontrollable rage.  
  
With a sigh, Harry penned a quick reply, thanking Mrs. Weasley once again, and explaining that he'd chosen to skip Christmas this year. He promised to stop over some day before Charlie returned to Romania.  
  
That task finished, Harry summoned a tumbler and a bottle of firewhisky and retired to the lounge to drink himself into oblivion.  
  
~*~*~  
  
It felt as if his head was being repeatedly slammed into a brick wall. God, it had to stop now! Harry awoke to find himself being jostled awake by his former best mate and new enemy.  
  
"Fuck, Ron, what are you trying to do to me?" snapped Harry angrily. He tried to sit up, but the movement made him feel like his head was going to explode.  
  
"Here you go," said Ron patiently. He held a vial of hangover potion to Harry's lips, which Harry gulped greedily. Ron laid him gently back against the pillows. Though his eyes were closed, Harry could hear Ron casting cleaning spells. The nasty odor that he'd awoken to began to dissipate. "It's probably a good thing you vomited, or we'd probably be spending the day planning your funeral," Ron mused.  
  
Harry snorted. "Too bad, then. I'll try not to barf next time."  
  
Ron just laughed, and sat quietly beside Harry as they waited for the hangover potion to work. Several minutes later, Harry could sit up, and soon he'd lost the green tinge to his skin as well.  
  
"What are you doing here?" asked Harry. "I thought you were spending the day at the Burrow with your family. That's where you belong."  
  
Ron smiled. "It's where you belong, too, but I heard you turned down Mum's invitation again."  
  
Harry looked at the clock; it was already late afternoon. "I'd have been late for dinner, and then she'd have been angry with me. At least this way, she didn't have any expectations." He looked at Ron's new maroon jumper and then down at his own rumpled clothes. "Sorry, I'm a mess. Wasn't expecting company today."  
  
"Obviously. Go on and take a shower if you like. I don't really have any other plans."  
  
"It'll just take me a minute," he said, raising himself on wobbly feet. "Make yourself at home."  
  
While Harry showered, Ron walked aimlessly around the house. No wonder Harry was depressed all the time; this house seemed to suck all the life out of him whenever he came over. It was the polar opposite of the Burrow, which seemed even more cheerful when more people were around. He wandered into the kitchen and came across Harry's stash of empty bottles which was not very well hidden in the pantry. Merlin's balls – if he kept drinking at this rate, Harry would be dead before his twenty-first birthday.  
  
He climbed the stairs back to the lounge and met Harry coming down the other staircase. He actually looked healthy, although Mum would certainly chastise him for being too skinny.  
  
Harry led the way to the lounge. He stoked the fire and sat comfortably beside Ron.  
  
"You never did answer my question. Why are you here?" asked Harry, trying to keep his tone curious rather than accusatory.  
  
With a grin, Ron said, "I just wanted to check up on you. I've never known anyone who skipped Christmas before, and I thought I'd see what it was like."  
  
"Yeah, well, sorry you had to walk in on me looking like that. Um, thanks for cleaning me up."  
  
Ron's eyes seemed to look through him rather than at him, and it made him uncomfortable. Harry cast about for a safe topic. "So how was dinner? Anyone from the Ministry show up?"  
  
"If you mean Percy, no, he didn't. He sent Mum some flowers, though, so perhaps he's coming around."  
  
"Good." They sat in silence.  
  
Ron turned slightly to better see Harry's eyes. "I think we should talk about her."  
  
"Who?"  
  
Ron frowned. "You know perfectly well that I'm referring to Hermione. Don't pretend that we don't both know what your real problem with Christmas is."  
  
"Oh, so you've figured out all my problems now? How clever of you," sneered Harry.  
  
Ron snickered. "Bloody hell, Harry. I wouldn't even know where to begin to figure out all of your problems. But I've figured out this one. You miss Hermione and you feel guilty about her death, so you've decided to try to make yourself feel better by finding the bottom of a firewhisky bottle. But then you feel guilty about that, so you're trying to hide from anyone who might be stupid enough to try to help you."  
  
Harry blinked. "Actually, that's not quite right. I'm not trying to feel better; I'm trying to feel nothing. Big difference."  
  
"Is it? Maybe to you, but I just see it as a big insult to her memory." Ron looked away, but not before he saw the anger flare in Harry's eyes.  
  
" _M_ e insult her? I think it's you and all the others who claimed to care about her, but have now gone on about your business as if she didn't matter," raged Harry.  
  
Ron looked as hurt as Harry had ever seen him. "That's not fair, Harry. You know it's not. I loved Hermione. But I'm trying to get on with my life because that's what she wanted me to do."  
  
Harry let out a cruel laugh. "She did, did she? And how do you know this? Did you suddenly learn to be insightful and introspective, or is it just wishful thinking?"  
  
"God, Harry. I don't believe you." Ron ran his fingers through his hair out of pure frustration. A minute passed, perhaps two, before either of them spoke again.  
  
"Harry, follow me. I need to show you something."  
  
Ron took hold of Harry's hand and literally pulled him up the stairs and into the drawing room. He stopped in front of the locked cabinet that held the many strange magical instruments that Harry had – much to his surprise – inherited from Professor Dumbledore.  
  
"Unlock the cabinet and take out the Pensieve," demanded Ron.  
  
"I know what you're trying to do, Ron, but reminding me of those wonderful Christmases we spent at Hogwarts is not going to make me feel better. It's not going to bring her back."  
  
Ron held his ground. "You have no idea what I'm trying to do. Get out the Pensieve."  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Harry took the Pensieve from the cabinet and placed it on a mahogany table. He reminded Ron how to extract his thoughts and watched as Ron placed his wand at his temple and pulled out a long, silver strand of memory.  
  
"Harry, I should have showed you this a long time ago, but quite frankly, I was a bit embarrassed because…well, you'll see. But I think you need to hear for yourself how Hermione felt about the war, and You-Know-Who and about you. Shall we?"  
  
It was only then that Harry realized that this was a memory of Ron and Hermione together. As much as he didn't want to face seeing her again, Ron seemed adamant, and he had to admit that he was more than a little curious. He nodded to Ron and together they dropped into the memory.  
  
Right away, Harry was clear on why Ron hadn't shown him this before. Ron and Hermione were cuddling in Hermione's bed, obviously naked and looking quite shagged out. Harry's blush was not nearly as deep as Ron's.  
  
"I, um, didn't think you needed to see us in bed together," whispered Ron, "but we stayed under the covers the whole time. Look away and just listen if you'd rather."  
  
But Harry couldn't look away. Hermione was so beautiful, flushed and glowing and obviously in love. And he realized just how much he missed her. Ron leant over to say something, but stopped when Hermione started speaking.  
  
***  
  
"Ron, I'm worried about Harry."  
  
"Oh? Have you only just started worrying? Because I'm about seven years into it," said Ron with a laugh.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. He seems so alone, and he's isolating himself from all of his friends – all the people that love him so much."  
  
"Yeah, well, we're here for him. We'll always be here for him. I think he knows that."  
  
"Of course, as long as we're alive, we'll be here for him. But what if we don't make it? With all of these Death Eaters on the loose and me being a Muggleborn and you a Blood Traitor, who's to say we'll even be around for the end?"  
  
Ron shook his head. "Stop talking like that, Hermione. I don't want to think about dying."  
  
Hermione rolled onto her side and stared into Ron's eyes. "I have to say this, because you need to hear it: I am completely committed to Voldemort's defeat, and if I die in the process, then it won't have been in vain if Harry comes through in the end. You know me – I've always championed some cause or another, but none so important as defeating Voldemort. You have to promise me, Ron, that if something happens to me, you'll continue on and you'll help Harry until the bitter end. Promise me you won't waste time mourning for me."  
  
"Come on, Hermione, you're talking crazy now."  
  
"Am I? Why is it crazy to think I might not survive? This is a war, Ron. It's not a game of Wizard's Chess where the pieces are destroyed and magically repaired at the end. People will die and it might be me. Promise me you'll look after Harry."  
  
Ron shook his head. "Of course I'll look after Harry. That's not the point."  
  
"It's exactly the point. I know how much you love him – at least as much as you love me. Oh, you may not have slept with him, but you probably would if he asked you. He's willing to risk his life to defeat Voldemort and make the world safer for you and me because he loves us. And I want you both to know that I'm doing the same of my own free will."  
  
Ron nodded. "Of course, so am I. That's why we're here, isn't it? But don't test me, okay? I don't need you to prove the point."  
  
Hermione rolled over onto Ron and they began to kiss again.  
  
***  
  
Ron grabbed Harry's arm and nodded upwards, and the two of them emerged from the Pensieve. Ron watched Harry anxiously, but Harry refused to meet his eye.  
  
Finally, Harry spoke. "So all along, Hermione thought she might die and she still wasted an entire year being on the run from Death Eaters and looking for the damn Horcruxes. That's unbelievable."  
  
"Yeah, a real Gryffindor through and through. But you didn't waste her time, mate. Her research is what found us those Horcruxes and enabled you to kill You-Know-Who. She'd have been so proud that she was able to help even after she'd left us."  
  
Harry was choked up with emotion over the idea that Hermione would willingly sacrifice herself to this insane cause. But she had done the same as so many others before her, bravely fighting so that Harry could continue his quest. She'd been resigned to her fate all along. And Harry couldn't deny that she'd told Ron not to waste time mourning for her.  
  
The mood between Harry and Ron had changed drastically; Harry no longer felt the need to lash out. Casting about for something to say that would lighten the moment, Harry said, "You've been doing a shitty job of looking after me, you know," The faintest hint of a grin crossed his lips.  
  
"Yeah? If I'm a shitty friend, then you are too. But at least I'm here with you in your damn depressing house on Christmas when I could otherwise be at the Burrow eating too many of Mum's mince pies and listening to Fred and George sing carols into their firewhisky."  
  
"Who'd want to miss that fun?" said Harry sarcastically.  
  
"Me. I was sitting at the table this afternoon missing you something rotten. Jokes are never quite as funny if you're not there to laugh with me, and what's the point of taking the mickey out of Ginny if you're not there to join in? Mum gets all maudlin over Percy and Dad tries to distract everyone with stories of the latest Muggle inventions he's read about. It's fucking pathetic, it is."  
  
"And I'm not?"  
  
"'Course you are. But you don't have to be. If you'd stop the pity party and start acting normal, we might actually be able to salvage this Christmas after all."  
  
Harry cocked his head to the side, thinking. "I wonder what it says about me that the best Christmas I ever had was the one where I received my dad's invisibility cloak."  
  
Ron shrugged. "Well, for one thing, it says you spend too much time thinking about your dead parents. But don't forget, that was also the first Christmas you spent away from the Dursleys."  
  
"Yeah, that's true. And my first one with you. In fact, I realized last night that I'd spent my last eight Christmases with you."  
  
Ron laughed. "It's a good thing I showed up then – I've got a perfect record going."  
  
Harry chuckled, and their laughter retreated into an uncomfortable silence. "Do you really think this house is depressing?" Harry asked after a while.  
  
"Hell, yeah. Look at this room – one sad Muggle light thingy hanging from the ceiling, peeling paint and crap all over the place. If it wasn't for that plant, you'd never even know it's Christmas."  
  
"Neville sent me that. Really thoughtful of him." Harry stared at the poinsettia. "I'm not exactly in the Christmas spirit."  
  
Ron sighed. "Okay, I'll help you." With a flourish of his wand, he transfigured the poinsettia into a Christmas tree, and conjured lights and a few fairies to decorate it. He walked over to the sideboard and pulled out two glasses and a decanter of some brown liquor. "What is this?"  
  
Harry said, "It's brandy. Make mine a double."  
  
Ron filled the glasses and handed one to Harry. He walked over to the makeshift tree and bent down.  
  
"See here. There's a present under this tree. Must be for you."  
  
"Oh, God, Ron. I didn't get you anything. I didn't get presents for anybody. I was serious about ignoring Christmas altogether."  
  
"You might want to open this before you start feeling guilty." Ron handed the package to Harry and sat down, carefully placing his brandy on the coffee table.  
  
Harry never could resist acting like a little kid whenever he opened a present. Ron tried to hide a smirk when Harry peeled back the tissue paper.  
  
"It's a necklace," he said, feeling somewhat confused. As he uncovered it completely, he broke into a huge grin. "Good God, you still have this!" It was the necklace that Lavender Brown had given Ron the Christmas that they were dating.  
  
"No, I don't. You have it now. I have given it to you as a gift, and you'd be an ungrateful bastard not to accept it."  
  
Harry began to laugh again. "So does that mean I have to be Lavender Brown's sweetheart?"  
  
Ron shook his head violently. "Absolutely not. You and she wouldn't last ten minutes together, even if you spent nine of it snogging. No, Harry, the necklace is from me."  
  
It took Harry a minute to cotton on to what Ron was saying. He took a large swig of brandy, focusing on the burn as it slid down his throat. "Oh. Well, you did promise Hermione you'd take care of me, so I guess that's sort of like being sweethearts." He laughed uncomfortably. "Does that mean you're going to sleep with me if I ask?"  
  
"Can I?" Ron grinned at him.  
  
"Ron! You're serious, aren't you?" Harry's heart felt like it was beating in his throat.  
  
Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve and turned him so that they were facing each other. "Yes, I am. And you're being remarkably thick."  
  
Harry covered his face with his hands. How the hell had they got from talking about Hermione to Ron asking to sleep with him? The fact that Harry was more than open to the idea was beside the point. How could Ron have possibly known how he felt? Unless…  
  
Harry was horrorstruck. "God, she told you, didn't she?" he gasped.  
  
"Who told me what?"  
  
"Hermione, the night before they killed her. We argued, remember?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Yeah. As I recall, she was pretty upset. But when I asked her what happened, she wouldn't say anything except that you'd yelled at her because she had something you wanted and she wouldn't give it to you."  
  
Harry snorted. "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. She never told you what it was?"  
  
"No." Ron paused. "So what was it?"  
  
Harry looked away. "You."  
  
Ron choked. "Me? You're joking."  
  
Harry sank into the couch. "Yeah. Aren't I a great friend? One night I tell her that I'm going to try to take away her boyfriend, and the next night she dies trying to save my arse. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"  
  
"I think I'm finally getting there," replied Ron. "So, er, I wasn't just imagining it when it seemed like you might want to be more than best mates." It was more of a question than a statement.  
  
"No."  
  
"And Hermione knew about it?"  
  
"She guessed. You know how she was always so good at figuring out that emotional stuff. And I don't think I hid it very well – not from her, anyway."  
  
Harry closed his eyes, trying to forget all of the hateful things he'd said to Hermione that night. But they flew open the moment he felt Ron's arms wrapped around him.  
  
"Do you still feel that way about me?" Ron asked in a near whisper.  
  
"How can you even want to be near me, knowing what I did to Hermione?" asked Harry sullenly.  
  
Ron scrunched his face up in confusion. "What you did to Hermione? You didn't do anything. Well, you fought with her which upset her, but it's not like you wanted her to die or anything."  
  
All Harry could do was glare at Ron. "Don't you think it's more than a coincidence that the day after I ask her to give you up and she refuses, she just happens to be killed?"  
  
Ron burst into raucous laughter which Harry did not find the least bit amusing. "Harry," said Ron, "unless you hired those Death Eaters to snuff Hermione, you had nothing to do with her death. You may be the Chosen One, but I don't think anyone has that much power."  
  
"I…I just wanted you so bad," blurted out Harry, "and I overheard her telling Tonks that she wasn't sure that you were the right one for her. So I got it in my head that she wasn't good enough for you and that I would be able to treat you better. Well, of course that wasn't right; I was being stupid, so no surprise there.  
  
"And that night before they took her, I finally got up the nerve to confront her about it and she said that I must have misinterpreted what I heard because she loved you and the two of you were happy together and I would just mess things up if I went after you."  
  
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, and he blinked them back furiously. "But I didn't want her to die; I just wanted her to step aside if she was going to break up with you anyway. And now neither of us have you."  
  
"Says who? I gave you that lovely necklace, didn't I?" Ron smirked, and even Harry, in his distraught state, barked out a laugh.  
  
"Oh, yeah. And I don't think I thanked you properly…Won-Won."  
  
Ron tackled Harry and their teeth clicked together as they kissed. Ron's lips were soft and sensuous on Harry's, and when his tongue probed Harry's mouth, it tasted like brandy. They moaned each other's names as they became completely caught up in their long-denied attraction.  
  
Harry lost track of time, his senses overwhelmed by the snogging and groping and the scent that was uniquely Ron. His drinking binges had been as much about denial of his feelings for Ron as they were about grief over Hermione. But as Ron kissed and licked and sucked on his lips and neck, Harry realized that Ron wasn't merely allowing him to do this; it was what he wanted as well.  
  
"I believe you wanted to sleep with me," rasped Harry. "Let's go."  
  
They moved across the hall to the master bedroom that Harry had moved into when he returned to Grimmauld Place after the war. Like the rest of the house, it was dark and depressing, but the majority of the floor space was taken up by a very large, very serviceable bed.  
  
Harry started to pull his t-shirt up, but Ron stopped him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take my time unwrapping you. After all, it's the only present you're giving me this year, so I want it to last."  
  
"No way I'm going to last. Not when you look this good."  
  
Ron smiled and slowly worked his fingers beneath Harry's t-shirt. The light touch sent a shiver down Harry's spine, and he could feel his cock harden in anticipation. The t-shirt was finally removed, and Ron bent down to tongue the hard pebble of Harry's nipple. It was both too much and not enough for Harry, as the nerve endings appeared to connect directly to his cock, but Ron wasn't rutting feverishly against him the way he wanted.  
  
Once he'd got a good taste of Harry's chest and neck, Ron set to work on removing Harry's trousers. Socks and boxers followed in turn, with Ron punctuating the removal of each item of clothing with long, deep kisses and painstakingly slow caresses.  
  
When Harry was standing before him, naked and aroused, Ron moaned, "God, look at you! Happy Christmas to me."  
  
"Now I should get a chance to unwrap you," growled Harry.  
  
Ron smirked. "I thought you were skipping Christmas this year?"  
  
"Fuck that idea," grunted Harry.  
  
Harry had always been the more impulsive of the two, and he was unable to show the restraint that Ron had used when undressing him. He managed to avoid ripping Ron's clothes, but only just.  
  
"I want you so much," whispered Harry into Ron's ear. "Need you."  
  
"I'm yours."  
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Harry pushed him back onto the bed, stretching his frame on top of Ron's larger one. As their cock's slid together, he hissed while Ron cried out, and it was sensation unlike anything he'd ever known. Ron's hands pulling on his arse increased the friction, and Harry's hips rocked in a steady, urgent rhythm. He glanced up to see Ron's face grimacing with the need to come, eyes closed and mouth deliciously inviting. He licked Ron's lips and kissed them, breaking away only when he felt he could no longer stave off his climax. He stilled suddenly, feeling Ron shake below him even as his vision grayed and he succumbed to his release.  
  
They kissed, then, communicating in a way that required no awkward discussion of feelings, no soppy 'I love you's. Ron chuckled at the squelch that their bodies made when Harry rolled off of him, and Harry didn't mind Ron's hands exploring every inch of skin. It was perfect.  
  
"Harry?" mumbled Ron.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I liked skipping Christmas."  
  
"Me too." Harry laid a trail of kisses across Ron's collarbone.  
  
"Can we skip New Year's Eve too?"  
  
"Sure," answered Harry. "Why should we go out and get drunk when everything we need for a celebration is right here?"  
  
Ron lifted Harry's chin until their eyes met. "Well, I was thinking it might be fun to lick champagne off your body at midnight."  
  
"Fuck, you're making me hard again already."  
  
"Good," said Ron with a smirk.  



End file.
